


Guenhumara

by JanLevine



Category: Sword at Sunset - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:55:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanLevine/pseuds/JanLevine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guenhumara learned early that girls did not follow the same path as boys. But it took her a while to find what she thought was her own path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guenhumara

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twistedchick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedchick/gifts).



I was five summers old when I learned that girls had a different fate than boys. I had three brothers, but Pharic was my near-twin, born only eleven months before me. We played and tumbled together, and I thought, as much as any child that age can think, that we would always be thus.

So it was until that fifth summer, and Pharic’s sixth, when Maglaunus my father came to Pharic. “You are old enough for this now,” he said, and gave him a war spear, sized just for him. Doubtless the point was blunted, but Pharic was delighted, and strode around making mock thrusts with it. He would have thrust it at me, but my father spoke to him sternly, saying that practice was all very well, but one should never threaten one who could not return the favor.

“When will I have mine?” I asked. I knew that Pharic was my elder, though the passage of time did not have much meaning to me. When one is young, time seems to last forever, except for the few sparkling moments.

My father gave my mother a look, and she took me aside. “You are a girl-child, my sweet. You are of the Women’s Side, and spears and such are not for you. You will have the loom and the spindle and the cookfire, and that is a fine thing. And when you are grown, there will be a young man with a spear to take care of you, and you to make a home for him.”

I frowned, and she took my chin in her fingers. “Such is the way of the world. But would you like to help me make the dinner for your father and brothers?”

And so it went. I later learned that there were rumors of warrior women in the past, especially Queen Boudica hundreds of years ago, but nothing of that sort was ever heard of among my people. There was the Women’s Side, and the Men’s Side, and that was that.

And so I learned all the things a young woman, especially a young woman who was the daughter of the tribal leader, should learn. And if I knew there was more to life than what I had been allotted, I was nevertheless reasonably satisfied with the portion of life that I had for my own.

At least, so I was until my fourteenth summer. Then, nothing seemed to go right. My weaving tangled so that it had to be ripped back, my spinning snarled into knots, nothing that I cooked turned out properly, and my mood, whether from all these or just from being fourteen, seemed always to be dismal. Worse, all the other young women of the tribe seemed to be pairing with those young men with spears my mother had long ago told of. But of the ones who buzzed around me (too much like bees, it seemed), none pleased me. Perhaps it was because we had grown up together, or perhaps because I was a useless lump whom no one would ever want to marry (as it sometimes seemed).

One day, I burnt the morning bannock, which was purely because of my inattention, but I took it as another sign of everything continuing to go amiss. I moped around until my mother told me to go out and do something, anything, and not come back until my mood had improved.

I took a basket and went berrying. The blackberries and raspberries were both ripe and warm, and when I first started out, almost as many of them found their way into my mouth as into my basket. But I kept searching and plucking and adding to the basket, and gradually, I felt better. It was hard to feel that all was terrible when the sun was shining and the ground was soft under my feet and the berries were sweet. I kept walking. I wasn’t exactly lost, for I knew all the area around, but I wasn’t quite on familiar ground, either.

I continued on, and while I didn’t find enough berries to fill my basket, there were sufficient to keep me going in the same direction. There was no path, but I marked the sun, so that even if I wasn’t quite sure where I was, I would know how to find my way back. I was just starting to think about heading back, for although my basket wasn’t completely full, I knew I would find enough to fill it on the return. But I saw one berry-laden bush, and headed toward it.

I never reached it. Instead, I fell into a trap that I’d never seen—the ground must have been covered over with withies, and leaves and bracken over that. At first I was thankful that it was only a hole, and no pointed sticks in the bottom for me to impale myself on. I was bruised and shaken in the fall, but I had taken no real hurt.

The hole was scarcely as high as my head, and I thought I would be able to jump up and pull myself out. But after I few attempts, I found that the hole was deep enough, and the ground soft and crumbly enough, that I had no purchase, and kept sliding back. Embarrassingly, I had no way to escape. Which meant that I could find my death in this hole just as well as I could if I’d been impaled, though it would take longer. One basket of berries would not provide much in the way of either food or drink.

I was never sure who was responsible for the trap. Our folk used them sometimes, but not often. It seems more likely that it was the work of the Little Dark Folk, since they had no reputation as hunters, but nevertheless had to get their meat somehow. It is well that at the time I didn’t think about them coming to retrieve what game they had captured, or I might have paralyzed myself with fear.

I spent what seemed like hours alternatively calling for help and trying to dig myself out. I called until my voice was hoarse and my throat was dry, and the sun was setting.

I decided to rest for a while, eat some of the berries, and try to recover my voice before trying again, when I heard one of the sweetest things I’d ever heard—the sound of a couple of men singing a bawdy song. I swallowed hard, trying to get my rebellious throat to behave itself, and produced a shout that might have sounded more like a squawk, but was loud enough to get their attention.

“Ho! Who’s there?” I heard.

“Help!” I was beyond embarrassment by now, and only hopeful of rescue. We called back and forth until they found me, and I was greeted to the sight of my brother Pharic and a stranger—the most beautiful young man I’d ever seen.

“Sa, sister,” said Pharic. “Is it rescuing you need?” He grinned down at me, but without any malice.

But it was the other young man who braced himself above so that I had something to grab onto, and together we managed to get me out. I was a sight, with my face and kirtle fouled with dirt and berry juice, but he just smiled at me. I smiled back, both in relief and confusion. I had not talked to so many strange young men that I could be accustomed to it.

Pharic cut into our reverie. “Guenhumara, this is Arvid. He is from one of the southern tribes, but will be fostering with us for a season. Arvid, meet my sister Guenhumara. She’s not usually this covered in dirt.”

I would have glared at him, but I was still too relieved by their timely rescue. “When I get rid of some of the dirt, it is berry tarts I will make you, in thanks.” I still had most of the berries, but they had been sadly crushed by the fall and the rescue, and cooking would be the best fate for them. And I was sure that this time, it would go as it ought. How else, when I was cooking for my rescuers?

And so it was that there were berry tarts the next day, and much talk between Arvid and me then, and in the next several days. And when my father asked if I would be pleased to be betrothed to him, for he was a chieftain’s son, I said it would be my greatest desire.


End file.
